


Where Do I Begin

by wocket



Series: Honor Bound [1]
Category: Real Person Fiction, dylric - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Military, Dylric, Epistolary, M/M, Military Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 19:14:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18168968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wocket/pseuds/wocket
Summary: Military/College AU. In the fall of 1999, Dylan Klebold moves to Tucson to attend the University of Arizona, while Eric Harris attends Marine Corps boot camp in San Diego. This is their love in letters, and then some.





	Where Do I Begin

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [dirtybandaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtybandaid/pseuds/dirtybandaid/works) for your support! Title taken from the Chemical Brothers song.

**August 1999**

Dylan just doesn’t have the heart to make plans for Eric’s last night before boot camp. Normally he’d try to do something special, something cool for dinner at least, but he can’t find it within himself to figure something out. So Eric and Dylan end up brooding in silence in Eric’s basement, looking anywhere but each other.

It seems like they might spend the whole night like this when Dylan lets out a noise that sounds suspiciously like a sniffle, although he tries to hide it. He wipes the corner of his eye with his henley, looking to the side.

Eric puts his hands on his hips. He inspects Dylan for a moment before sitting down beside him.

“It’s not the end, I swear,” Eric insists, even though part of him doesn’t believe what he’s saying. Dylan looks at the floor, wiping his eyes anyway. “Hey, V. It’s not the end.”

*

With that, the summer of 1999 officially comes to a close, and the two young men are forced to move on with their lives. Dylan Klebold moves to Tucson to attend the University of Arizona, where he plans to major in Computer Sciences. Eric Harris heads twelve hours further west to San Diego, California to attend boot camp at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot.

Dylan writes Eric letters at boot camp practically every week, folding them up and sticking them in envelopes bound for San Diego. He scrawls Eric’s address with care, adding “Rct” in front of his name and hoping for a reply.

*

_Hi Reb-_

_I hope this letter makes it to you okay. College starts next week & I’m driving out to Tucson on Saturday. My dad is going to help me move in to the dorms. I wish you had been able to visit before you left but I guess this gives me time to learn the city before you get a grand tour. I’m nervous but I can’t wait to get out of Littleton like we always talked about._

_My first semester I’m taking English Composition, Intro to Computer Programming, Algebra, & German. The language is a requirement (fuck!) but at least I can practice with you and maybe I’ll be able to translate Rammstein lyrics. I hope I can remember literally anything from middle school._

_What to add? Thirteen weeks is a really long time. Has anyone called you a filthy maggot yet or does that only happen in the movies?_

_Here is my address at school_  
_Dylan Klebold_  
_1018 E South Campus Drive_  
_Tucson, AZ 85719_

________Laterz_  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _

  
_9-1-99_

*  
_  
Hey Vodka,_

_Reporting from Charlie company! Fuckers haven’t killed me yet. Training this week was first aid so now I know how to fix you up, V. I can’t wait til we get to the real shit, guns, fighting, blowing shit up. Give me a firearm already!! I’m not here to play games.  
Good luck with school smarty pants._

_-Rct Eric Harris  
9/6/99_

*

_Eric-_

_I don’t love college but I have to give it a try. If I graduate at the top of my class and get a really great high-paying computer programming job, I can afford to take care of you and you won’t have to stay in the military very long. and you can do whatever you want._

_My room is on the third floor of Cochise Hall. They used the dorm in the “Revenge of the Nerds” movie. Arizona’s so different; I wish ~~you were here~~  
_ _you could see it. Tucson is surrounded by mountain ranges and there are all kinds of crazy animals out here, coyotes, roadrunners, javelinas (big pigs). I saw my first coyote smoking a cigarette…. I was smoking the cigarette not the coyote.… I just want you to see what the desert is like after the rain. I wish I knew how to describe the smell (petrichor?)._

  
_9/8/1999_

*

_September 11, 1999_

_HAPPY BIRTHDAY VoDkA!!!!_

_Wish I could pour you a drink to celebrate your 18th birthday but instead my ass is getting whupped. In other news I don’t want you to hate me for leaving you, know that I feel like I have to do this._

_The DIs (drill instructors) push us hard. I barely have energy to hold a dang pen. We got a new drill instructor whos twice as tough and it sucks, all the time he’s calling people out for doing absolutely fucking nothing. I’ve already been chewed out and I HATE IT! Some of the people I have to work with are fuckin retards and I hate people telling me what to do, especially dumbfucks like them._

_We got issued our M16-A4 rifles today!! Fuck Yeah! We have to figure out how to take the ~~guns~~ weapons (we’re not allowed to call them guns, stupid) apart and put them back together. I’m going to be hella fast, wait and see. This is the best thing to happen so far._

*

_Reb-_

_Turning 18 was lonely as hell without you. I went to Chilli’s and got a free dessert (ha)._

_College is a scam. It’s just more practice to be one of society’s good little robots instead of thinking for yourself. More of the same like high school except now you pay for mind control. I thought college might be different & people would be more independent. They are sheep, plain and simple. People are still stuck in cliks. Katie (from my English class) is the only person worth talking to. Everybody is just as fake as they were in high school. Why can’t anybody be real??_

what’s wrong with you  
R U OK?  
are you still here  
don’t slip away  
just breathe in deep and stay awake  
don’t close your eyes

_I’m sure you’re being pushed for the sake of training. It will all be worth it in the end. You’re a tough motherfucker… so don’t let any of it bother you._

_-in the midst of CHAOS there is opportunity-_

_TTYL_

_9-12-99_

*

Eric re-reads Dylan’s letter, and his words don’t sink in until the second time around. _Who the fuck is Katie?_ he wonders, frowning. He tears off the bottom of the letter, crumpling up the top half and tossing it into the garbage. Eric folds up the other tiny piece into a square so small that it can’t be folded any further and sticks it into his pocket, hoping it will be hidden for now.

Eric lies down on his bunk, trying to ignore the noise around him. In the barracks, there is always something moving, something happening. The frenzied action around him mimics the frantic motions of his brain. This serves him right. Everybody was going to leave him and Dylan was no different. He apparently couldn’t wait to do it, either, and there was nothing Eric could do about it. He felt more imprisoned than ever.

Eric huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. It was good that Dylan was making friends, something Eric had failed to do thus far at boot camp. Had Dylan really moved on so quickly? Eric knew all kinds of guys who went off to college and dumped their high school girlfriends but never for a second did Eric consider… well, he and Dylan were different, that’s all. That traditional shit didn’t apply to Reb and Vodka. They were made for each other, fated, at least that’s what Eric thought. It was hard thinking that Dylan might already have a new life that didn’t have a spot for him in it.

Eric recognizes the lyrics in Dylan’s letter as being from a KMFDM song. It reminds him of the summer of 1999, when the two of them drove around Littleton with nowhere to go, windows down and the song blaring. Dylan found an empty lot and swiftly pulled his car inside, cutting the lights and turning down the music. They smoked a blunt, passing it back and forth before ignoring it to focus on each other instead. Maybe it was the weed, maybe it was Dylan’s stupid, shy smile. Either way, Eric couldn’t resist when Dylan turned that look on him. He tugged on the front of Dylan’s shirt, drawing the other young man forward into a kiss.

Eric couldn’t stop picturing Dylan looking at this chick that way, whoever she was. Did Dylan turn the stereo all the way down the way he had with Eric? Did he rub his sweaty palms on his shorts before leaning in? Did he swallow every time he was about to be kissed?

Eric’s mind wanders, and he remembers the rest of that night. They’d gotten into a fight later that night on the way home. Eric wanted to go straight back to Dylan’s house, and Dylan insisted that they come down a little bit before even trying to go inside. Dylan was bleary-eyed and paranoid, terrified his parents might see them and find out he’s high. Eric had finally relented, agreeing to drive around for a while longer, but not without a fight. Eric remembers it with a scowl, thinking he should have just given in to Dylan that night - he was only trying to look out for them both, after all. Maybe if he hadn't fought so much, if he hadn't said some of the shit he'd said... maybe things would be different.

Eric punches the post of his bunk. His knuckles crack loudly against the metal. The sting in his hand distracts him from the loneliness of the memory and the pain of his imagination.

*

_Dylan-_

_Katie huh? U met a girl?_

_I’m learning all kinds of badass shit but sometimes I hate boot camp. Someone is on you about everyfuckingthing. turnover SUCKS. The DIs come in and rip the place apart, I’m talking destroying beds, throwing your clothes around, pouring soap all over the floor, fucking up your shit. you have to do whatever they want no questions asked. you are treated as less than human. Not to mention somebody is watching you all the time. 1984!!!_

_Adios_

  
_9/22/99_

                                             
*

_REB-_

_I’m thinking about doing work study next semester because I can’t afford to do anything fun right now. The computer lab has some jobs that might not suck. Someone at this party was telling me they have to work around your classes since it’s for the school. Oh yea, I went to my first college party. My roommate invited me because he felt bad about how often he has sex with his girlfriend in our room. I’m getting to know the library pretty well; it’s the only place I can think of to go when they’re in there._

_Reb, you don’t have to worry about Katie. She’s my friend, that’s all. I don’t like her the slightest bit. I’m so lonely without you and she’s friendly and kind of actually cares what I have to say. She…. damn I don’t know how to say this but she knows about you. I told her all about us. She’s the first person I told ~~that I’m ga~~ who knows about you and me. She doesn’t care either. So please don’t worry Eric._

_Yours,_

  
_10-1-99_

*

_October 12, 1999_

_QUALIFICATIONS!!! Eric Harris is officially a SHARPSHOOTER. I qualified for the marksmanship badge (duh) plus got a high score, I think I was less than 10 points away from expert which sucks but whatever. I wish you could have seen it. You’re in full body armor with a rifle at close range, 30 rounds. You know what the difference is, i’m fucking awake! Half of these people don’t know what to do with their guns. its pathetic. They’re supposed to give us a sharpshooter badge for our uniforms. Your boy is getting bling nigga!!_

_Thanks for writing me letters. It’s nice to have something at mail call. My dad sends me a letter every once in a while but it’s all military dad stuff: “button up” “serving is the highest obligation of citizenship” and “stay humble and hustle son”. I hope he’s proud. This shit is supposed to give me a reason to be good. I like your letters Vodka because they remind me of home (even though it SUCKS!!) and remind me of you. You’re a good writer. What are they making you do for english class?? Is it creative writing like in Ms Kelly’s class or are you writing research papers and shit? Maybe you can send me something you’ve written because I’m getting sick of reading suicide notes written on bunks in sharpie._

*

_guten tag—_

_I hiked to the top of Tanque Verde Falls outside Tucson this weekend (look at me getting outside). It was harder than I expected but the worse it got the more I felt like I had to keep going and I guess I’m glad I did. You know I’m sick of looking at Denver but it’s nice to have a change of pace. The waterfalls were actually beautiful…. the view at the top was worth it. ~~It took my breath away.~~ The water was perfectly clear. I could see my ugly face in it LOL. There were saguaro cactuses all over the rocks (just picture the ones from cartoons & that’s really what they look like). Did you know they don’t get arms until they are like 80 years old?? Anyways I stayed up there for a long long time but all I could think about was you sitting next to me._

_My homework is to read “On the Road” for my English class. It’s exactly what it sounds like._

_“my fault, my failure is not in the passions i have, but in my lack of control of them”_

_alles liebe_

  
_10-22-99_

*

Dylan’s next envelope doesn’t contain a letter, just a photo of Dylan on his 18th birthday and a sheet of paper. In the photo Dylan has one of his trademark pensive smiles on his face; he looks good. He’s wearing a dark blue U of A hoodie, sitting in front of a stone fireplace in what must be the lobby of his dorm.

The sheet of looseleaf paper contains various drawings of Dylan’s, sketches of hearts and three-barred crosses and infinity symbols. There’s an E+D scrawled in the corner that Eric runs his finger over. He folds up the paper into a tiny square and tucks it underneath his mattress.

*

_Hey Wildcat-_

_Don’t go having too much fun without me. Ugly?? Are we talking about the same fuckin person Vodka? Are you saying I have bad taste?? I’d take your ~~cute~~ face over the ugly motherfuckers at boot camp any day, mein gott. I hate the people I live with sometimes. So many people in one room it’s impossible to fucking sleep. everyone smells. I thought the worst part of boot camp would be the work and the physical shit but its the people. Field Week is kicking my ass. I’m so sick of running. I like the shooting alot but the ~~food~~ gruel is shit. Those are the only two things I miss, you and decent food._

_GOD i miss you V._

_Harris  
10/28/99_

*

Dylan tries to gauge the intensity of boot camp from what Eric doesn’t say. His letters get shorter in some weeks, and he starts to tell Dylan less about his experiences. He signs a few letters as “Harris” instead of Eric or Reb. Finally, things take a turn, and Eric starts to tell him less about San Diego and more about what he’s feeling and thinking. Dylan watches him mature over the long weeks of boot camp, working out complicated feelings over the course of three months. After Halloween they exchange a pair of haunting e-mails.

*

_October 31_

_Eric,_

_It’s Halloween & everybody’s out doing something cool but me. I’m in my dorm room all alone like a loser, like always. I can hear a party down the hall when I open the door so I’m just sitting inside. I hate it._

_All the jobs in the computer lab are taken next semester.… I wasn’t fast enough. The only thing left open is the poetry center & I don’t know if it’s worth it…._

_FUCK I want to die so bad. I’ve been drinking a lot and I don’t know how to stop. I keep having these dreams about a cliff in the desert. I walk up to the edge and throw myself off every time & I wake up wishing I did it for real. I’m not sure how to care anymore. I don’t know why I’m telling you this I just had to write it down._

*

_V-_

_Do you ever wonder why you’re at school? Not just to get a degree but “why” you’re really there. I started to realize I’m gonna be fighting for freedoms that I’m never going to have myself. AMERICA is fucked up. Everyone has these views and ideas why they’re here and I’m not so sure anymore. Nobody really knows me or even tries but everything I am inside isn’t “right” or “morally acceptable” to them. I want to be a good soldier but I know who I am. At least I have them convinced for now. I’m so sick of these people. You’re supposed to be bonding with your fellow recruits but a lot of these guys are either A) assholes or B) morons or C) both. Sometimes its just like high school when they make fun of who you are or the way you look in the showers or the way you speak or whatever. I’m different and these snots take every chance to remind me. Some fuckers deserve to be shot._

_I’m telling my parents that everything is going fine, ha ha!! It’s a lie (but I don’t want to lie to you)._

_Halloween is a dumb holiday for babies. I really hope the DIs don’t read our mail because I’ll get my ass kicked for what I’m about to write. I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately too. Some of that stuff in the letter you wrote made me sad to think about. If I were in Tucson I’d make you happy V. ;)_

  
_11-5-99_

*

Mail call takes place every night. The recruits gather around the senior drill instructor, who calls out the names of the people lucky enough to receive a piece of mail from home.

“Harris! You got a girlfriend in Arizona?”

“No, sir!”

“What’s this?”

The DI waves an envelope in his face. Dylan wrote to him so frequently that the drill instructor was starting to recognize his handwriting. Eric snatches it from his hand.

“Why don’t you share it with us, Harris?”

“No thank you, sir!”

“Did I give you a choice, recruit?”

“No sir,” Eric responds, and he rips the letter open, reading Dylan’s words with a shaky voice. “ _November 11, 1999. Dear Eric, one day we will be free to be who we want to be. I’m thinking about you all the time._ ” Eric pauses, trying to muster the strength to continue. One of the recruits behind him snickers. “ _You can tell me everything._ ” Eric’s voice is hoarse. “ _I want you to know that. My_ -” Eric licks his lips. “ _My soul was made for you. Love, V._ ”

“What does V stand for, recruit?”

“Veronica,” Eric answers, coming up with the first name he could think of.

“You and Veronica gonna be free, huh? You do know what you just signed up for, son?”

Eric’s face burns. “Four years, sir!”

“That’s right! Get the fuck outta here, boot.”

*

After mail call, Eric’s bunkmates in the squad bay hassle him about the scene on the quarter deck.

“V for _Veronica_? Huh? You sure it wasn’t ‘your boy Vodka’ you’ve told us about? You’re always running your mouth about him.”

“Fuck you,” Eric spits.

“Harris and Vodka sitting in a tree,” one of the other recruits chants. It’s so childish and basic that Eric can’t believe he’s really hearing it. “ _F - U - C - K - I - N - G_.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Eric hisses. “Even if it was true, why does it matter? I’m willing to die for this country, same as you.”

“We don’t need fairies to die for our rights, you fucking homo.”

Eric gets up from his bunk like he’s ready to fight, hands balled into fists at his side. The showdown ends when their drill instructor shows up, screaming.

“Recruits!”

They snap to attention.

*

_Vodka-_

_Today was an important day for all of us sad motherfuckers: THE CRUCIBLE. It’s this bigass test and if you pass, you are Marine material. You spend 54 hours in the woods, marching 45 miles, doing all kinds of tactical shit. You only get two meals (MREs) so I’m fuckin hungry!! I would kill for some fast food. The DIs make you fight and solve all kinds of problems, see how badass you are, basically. The best part of the course was this enemy rope bridge we had to get around with only a couple of ropes. I defended the whole squad, ready to snipe enemy combatants as my boys crossed, belly down in the mud, leg cocked to the side, gun - excuse me WEAPON - ready for combat. YAAAH!! I think I only got like 5 hours of sleep the entire time too._

_One of the guys Lopez didn’t make it. Dumb guy can’t swim so they kicked him out, we came back from chow and his stuff was gone like he was never here in the first place._

_For the first time since I got out here I’m beginning to think about what actually comes after this. We get 10 days of leave after boot camp, then recruits go for infantry training (= rifleman training pew pew) and combat training at Camp Pendleton. It’s supposed to be like 7 weeks with a weapon (grenade launchers??) then its more school after that unless you’re a grunt then you get like three months of machine guns, grenade launchers, tactics etc. You pick your specialty (MOS) before boot camp and I put down satellite communications so I guess it’s on to Fort Gordon in Georgia. The South will rise again!! heh._

HONOR - COURAGE - COMMITMENT  
  
_11/17/99_

*

_Eric-_

_You realize you being in Georgia means we’ll be one state away from living on opposite coasts? The further away you get the closer I want to hold you. Everyone says you are only supposed to be encouraging in letters to recruits at boot camp & not tell them what they are missing but please know I can’t keep it in anymore. I miss you. Come home._  
  
_11-21-99_

*

The morning of Eric’s graduation from boot camp, Dylan flies from Tucson to San Diego, where Eric’s parents pick him up at the airport. They drive together to the Marine Corps Recruit Depot and watch the graduation ceremony on the parade deck. Dylan spots Eric immediately, pointing him out to Wayne and Kathy.

Eric is granted liberty after formation. He has lunch with his parents and Dylan, and it’s weird to have everybody together again like that. His father looks satisfied all day long despite the worried look on his mother’s face. Dylan beams, only having eyes for Eric, despite the large number of handsome young gentlemen in uniform.

Wayne and Kathy visit the MCX on base after lunch, leaving Eric and Dylan alone for the first time all day. Eric can’t believe Dylan is standing here in front of him. He almost looks taller than Eric remembers, the sun filtering through his golden hair. He tried to dress up for the occasion, khaki pants and a navy polo shirt that brings out the color of his eyes. Eric is entertained - it’s not Dylan’s usual “look” but he appreciates the effort.

Eric fists a hand in Dylan’s shirt and tugs his boyfriend around the corner and behind the barracks until they’re out of view of the thousands of people that have descended upon the base for graduation. Eric finds an out-of-the-way spot to hide them as well as he can, then takes Dylan’s face in his hands to kiss him deeply. Dylan heats up, and it feels so damn good to hold Eric again, to slip arms around his waist and pull him close. It’s the first time they’ve touched like this since Eric left for boot camp thirteen weeks ago. Eric presses another kiss to Dylan’s mouth, sighing.

“Reb, watch it. You could get discharged if someone sees.”

“I don’t care,” Eric tells him, exasperated. “I missed you.”

Dylan lets Eric kiss him again - he’s spent too much time missing the other young man to stop him. “Me too. So damn much."

Dylan’s taken with how good Eric looks in his cammies. “You look good,” Dylan whispers. Eric looks humble for once, smoothing down his uniform. “I can’t believe it’s been three months.” Eric’s hair is cropped close to his head in military regulation, and his face is more tanned from the sun. Dylan can also see newly developed muscles bulging underneath his cammies. He doesn’t look as weak as he used to: he looks stronger, more confident.

Eric sweeps his hands over Dylan’s shoulders, his forearms, his chest, anywhere, just to get his hands on the other boy.

“Where are you going after boot camp?” Dylan asks, wanting to get his hands back on Eric, but terrified that someone might see. He’d kill himself for being the reason Eric couldn’t make it in the Marines.

“Dunno yet,” Eric shrugs. “But we get ten days leave first.”

Ten days? Ten whole days with Eric?

“I’ll pick you up from the airport,” Dylan promises. Distracted, Eric leans up for another kiss. “Come on. Your parents are probably wondering where you are.”

*

Eric comes home soon after graduation. He’s granted ten days leave that miraculously falls on the same week as fall break at the University of Arizona. Dylan picks Eric up at the Denver International Airport. His heart flutters when he sees the sight of Eric walking toward him, still in his cammies, carrying a duffel bag. He was never going to get used to the fact that his boyfriend was now a U.S. Marine.

Eric drops the duffel bag, throwing his arms around Dylan and squeezing. Dylan hugs him tight, letting his chin rest on the top of Eric’s head. They hold each other for as long as they can without drawing attention. Finally, they pull apart, Dylan trying to disguise the pleased smile on his face.

They pass a family bathroom, and Eric gets a bold idea. He pushes Dylan toward the door.

“What?” he says at first, not understanding, and Eric jerks his chin toward the bathroom. Dylan gets it and goes inside. Eric waits for a moment to be sure nobody is paying attention, then slips in behind him. He locks the door.

“Dylan,” he says, dropping his duffel bag on the floor. Dylan licks his lips and then Eric is moving in, pushing him against the wall and stealing a kiss.

“Been waiting for that,” Eric says with a half-smile. Dylan shuts him up by kissing him again. Dylan tries to give him a sweet kiss and Eric lunges forward, growling into his mouth. Eric probes his mouth with his tongue, reaching down to adjust his junk.

“You’re hard already?” Dylan asks with glee.

“I was hard on the plane,” Eric admits, only a little embarrassed.

“ _Oh_ ,” Dylan breathes.

Eric reaches for Dylan’s belt buckle, undoing it as quick as his hands will allow. Before Dylan knows what he’s doing, he’s on his knees, unzipping his pants and leaning forward to inhale.

Dylan’s cock twitches with excitement. Eric pumps it a few times before taking Dylan in his mouth.

Dylan grabs Eric’s hat so he can run his fingers over Eric’s buzzed hair. He throws it on top of Eric’s bag so he doesn’t drop it on the restroom floor. The sight of Eric on his knees in his cammies isn’t one he will soon forget. It’s hot as fuck, and he files the image away for later use.

Eric works with a desperate need to make Dylan feel good, sucking with such gusto that Dylan’s whole body shakes. After a few adept grazes of Eric’s tongue, Dylan comes in his mouth. Eric frowns around the taste, getting up and spitting in the toilet.

They sneak out of the bathroom carefully, avoiding detection. Once they get into Dylan’s BMW, they can’t hold back their laughter.

*

That night Harrises take the boys out to dinner at Olive Garden, and Dylan and Eric stay in the rest of the evening, hanging out in the Harris basement the way they used to back in high school. After their movie ends, they go outside for a smoke break and Dylan smokes cigarette after cigarette like something important is on his mind, pulling them from his lips with two fingers.

Eric watches Dylan just to watch him. It almost doesn’t feel real, seeing him again after so long at boot camp. For months and months, all he’d had were letters, folded pieces of looseleaf paper full of Dylan’s words. Now here was the real thing, live, in the flesh.

Eric watches him playing absent-mindedly with the hem of his t-shirt. His left hand holds his cigarette steady, and Eric imagines his long, slender fingers holding a pen instead, drafting letters and stories and homework assignments. Dylan had a whole new life now, one that Eric wasn’t part of and one he knew nothing about, except what he read in Dylan’s letters.

Finally Dylan drops his cigarette butt and steps on it, looking down the road.

Dylan squints. He seems tired. He looks at Eric, and something about his gaze makes Eric feel inadequate under the weight of it, although Eric never really knew what was going on in Dylan’s head.

“I love you,” Dylan says to Eric for the first time, shoving his hands in his pockets, and Eric stares, wondering _why here, why now, why him?_ It seems like Eric ought to kiss him but he knows that his parents are sitting on the other side of the window.

Back in the basement, they both crawl into the same leaned-back recliner, Dylan lying behind Eric. It’s a tight squeeze but they both fit, and Dylan spoons Eric’s body, threading a long, skinny arm around his waist.

They fall asleep like that in the tan recliner, unwilling to get up and let the night come to an end.

Dylan stirs first the next morning, drawing Eric closer to his chest. “Good morning, Marine.”

*

Dylan lets Eric spend the next morning with his family so they can catch up, but picks him up around dinnertime. They drive around town aimlessly, checking out everything that’s changed since they left.

“Oh shit!” Eric exclaims.

“What?” Dylan asks, swerving. Eric points toward the Burger King. He doesn’t have to say anything else for Dylan to pull into the drive-thru, remembering all of Eric’s letters about missing good food.

Eric leans over Dylan to look at the menu. “Two Whoppers, large fries, a large coke, and onion rings.” He looks at Dylan. “You want anything?”

Dylan laughs. “I’ll just eat some of your fries.”

Eric leans over Dylan further to reach the speaker. “Make that two orders of fries!”

Eric pays for everything even though Dylan tells him he doesn’t have to. They sit in the parking lot eating their food and Eric makes appreciative noises as he scarfs down his hamburger, enjoying it a great deal, from the sound of it.

Eric catches him staring and pokes a salty finger in his mouth. Karma kicks in when Dylan bites down, not hard enough to draw blood but hard enough to put pressure on Eric’s knuckle.

“Get in the backseat,” Eric tells him.

“Huh?” Dylan says at first, not understanding what Eric means. Eric points to the back of the car.

“I said get in the backseat, faggot!” Eric commands in his recruit voice.

Dylan climbs over the center console and into the backseat, long limbs flailing. Eric comes flying between the seats a moment later, right into Dylan’s lap.

“Mmf!” Dylan squawks.

Eric pulls Dylan’s Boston Red Sox hat right off his head and puts it on his own. He gives Dylan a sly half-smile. Elevated to the same height because of his spot straddling Dylan’s lap, Eric leans forward to taste Dylan’s mouth.

It always used to take so long to initiate something, both boys dancing around something they both so clearly wanted. Now, Eric leaps right in to physical affection, wasting no time. Ten days wasn’t very long, after all.

Dylan’s hands come up naturally; he winds them around Eric’s waist. Eric’s heavier than he used to be, but the new weight is all muscle.

Eric fists his hand into Dylan’s blonde hair, tugging harder after he gets a good reaction. Dylan keens when Eric winds his hair around his fingers. Trust Eric to learn him so quickly, to figure out what he liked before Dylan even knew. It makes Dylan burn with affection. Though they’d only been apart for a few months, sometimes it had felt like years.

Eric grinds down, rubbing their crotches together.

Dylan moans, letting his eyes fall shut. “If we’re going to keep going, I don’t know if Burger King is the best place to do this.”

“Keys,” Eric demands. “Give me your keys,” he says again.

Dylan fishes them out of his pocket, handing them over.

Eric hops into the front and starts the car.

“Eric,” Dylan says, concerned, leaning forward. Eric turns to kiss him, quieting him, before throwing the car in reverse and peeling out of the parking lot.

Eric finds a dusty gravel lot off Deer Creek Canyon Road to pull into. He shuts the engine off, cuts the lights and slips back into the backseat with Dylan.

The eight-minute drive seems to have cooled Eric down, as he launches himself into the backseat with less force than before. Dylan scoots to the side to make room for him. They arrange themselves into a position that works, falling back into a kiss.

It’s still hard for them to ask for what they want, learning to give each other tiny signals instead. Eric pulls Dylan’s hair when he wants him to be more aggressive; Dylan figures out that when Eric scratches the back of his neck it means he wants him to bite little kisses above his clavicle.

Eric bites Dylan’s lip a little. Dylan reacts by crushing Eric’s mouth in a searing kiss, taking everything he’d been missing over the past few months.

They make out for twenty minutes, until Eric sinks back against the seat with a sigh. Eric pulls out two cigarettes. He lights them both, handing one to Dylan.

“What’s up with you?” Dylan asks.

“Just thinking about training,” comes his response. His face looks serious.

“Is it… do you still think it’s the right thing to do?”

“Too late if not, huh?” Eric says sadly.

Dylan slips his arm around Eric’s shoulders. Eric bites his lip.

“Gonna miss you,” Dylan says.

“Yeah,” Eric agrees, distracted. He closes his eyes. “You know, boot camp was hard but it was… it could be fucked up, man.”

Dylan brushes his fingertips over the cropped hair at the base of Eric’s neck. “What do you mean?” he asks gently.

“Like… there was turndown and shit, but people are assholes just like they were in high school.”

Dylan leans his head against Eric’s. “People are assholes in college, too.”

Eric shrugs. “DI made me read one of your letters.”

“In front of everybody?” Eric nods his head. “Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry."

“Don’t be,” Eric says. “I liked your letters.”

Dylan scoffs. “Good. You’ve got four more years of them coming.”

“I can see you on leave,” Eric points out. “Maybe you could even visit the base; I might get some weekends off. Or there’s graduation for MCT.”

“Of course,” Dylan agrees. “Whenever. Any time I’m allowed.”

They sit in the car because they have no place else to go. Dylan keeps brushing his thumb across Eric’s neck, a gesture that comforts them both. Occasionally he turns his head to steal a kiss, bumping their noses together.

Eric’s head starts to droop, and he leans it on Dylan’s shoulder. “Sorry. I’m used to waking up at the ass-crack of dawn now,” he yawns.

Dylan drops a kiss onto his head. “Don’t worry about it, Reb. Let me take you home.”

Later, when Dylan pulls his BMW into Eric’s driveway, they wait for the song to finish playing before either one of them moves.

*

Dylan convinces his mother to change Thanksgiving dinner to Thanksgiving lunch so that he and Eric can go from the Klebold’s to the Harris house without offending either family. Sue is happy to oblige, and the boys make plans to go from one house to the other.

Sue cooks a large spread, including a fine roast turkey. Dylan’s parents ask Eric all kinds of questions about boot camp, which he answers politely. Dylan knows the answers to most of the questions, but some of Eric’s answers are new, so he listens attentively. Every once in a while he remembers to take a bite of green beans.

The conversation finally turns to Dylan, and he opens up about some of his more memorable assignments for school, including a personal essay he’d written earlier in the semester.

“Maybe I could read it,” Eric says, to everyone’s surprise. Dylan searches his face but finds no deceit there. Maybe he genuinely wanted to read it; he’d mentioned the dearth of reading material at boot camp but Dylan hadn’t thought Eric would actually want to bother with any of Dylan’s writing.

“Well, I bet you two are happy to see each other again,” Dylan’s mom says after the conversation lulls. He tries not to look too excited while Eric busies himself staring at his plate. Dylan’s brother Byron makes a soft noise that sounds like a snicker but buries it behind his palm. Dylan ignores it, willing her to change the subject. Soon enough, she does, asking Byron about his roommate. The rest of lunch proceeds, eventless.

Byron gives Dylan a hug before he heads back to his apartment across town. “You look different,” he comments. “Happier.” He looks from Dylan to Eric, then back at his brother. If he’s thinking any particular thought, he doesn’t say it. He shakes Eric’s hand. “Good luck with everything.”

Eric and Dylan hang around a little longer. “Mom!” Dylan calls to the kitchen. “I’m spending the night at Eric’s!”

They thunder out of the house a moment later, ready to fake their way through their second holiday meal of the day.

The roads are mostly empty; everyone is inside celebrating with their families. Dylan turns the stereo up as loud as it can go on the drive to Eric’s house. Eric studies his profile, watching him, watching the wind ruffle his hair and his fingers beat against the steering wheel.

Eric and Dylan play video games in Eric’s basement for an hour until the food is ready. At the Harris household it’s just Eric, his parents, and Dylan, and dinner is much quieter than lunch. Eric’s mom opted for a country-baked ham instead of a turkey, along with mashed potatoes, yams, and pumpkin pie. Eric’s mom asks Dylan a few questions about college, but the conversation doesn’t go very far. Wayne shares a few memories from boot camp that Eric is able to one-up easily. It’s a less memorable meal than the one before it.

After dinner the boys descend to the basement. Eric makes sure to lock his door before they put on a movie, sitting closer than they need to. Eric’s hand comes up to rest possessively on Dylan’s thigh, and it’s the stupid sort of disgustingly sweet thing Dylan likes.

Eric waggles his eyebrows. He turns the volume up a few notches.

Movie forgotten, Dylan leans down for a kiss. Dylan moves deliberately, gently, unbuttoning Eric’s shirt. He slowly runs his hand over Eric’s chest and stomach, then slides it down lower over his crotch. Eric’s hips buck, a natural reaction, and Dylan grins.

Dylan’s on his knees in a flash, undoing Eric’s belt buckle and unzipping his fly. “Think you can be quiet?” Dylan asks, pulling Eric’s shorts down to his knees.

Eric raises his eyebrows. Dylan takes him in his mouth and Eric lets out a whimper. Dylan shakes his head but continues to work his mouth over his dick, swallowing around him. Eric’s hips stutter again. Dylan pulls Eric’s pants down further so he can spread his knees, and his hands settle on Eric’s thighs.

Eric’s head lolls back when Dylan licks a stripe across his dick.

“Please,” Eric whines, and pride flashes across Dylan’s face. “Please, V, come on.”

Dylan works harder, grabbing Eric at the base and swirling his tongue around the head. He takes him all the way down and Eric almost loses it, grabbing at Dylan’s hair for balance.

With one more well-timed lick, Eric comes in Dylan’s mouth, the bitter taste flooding his tongue. “Shh,” Dylan says, licking his lips. Eric was going to wake up his own parents if he wasn’t careful.

Eric zips up his jean shorts after he regains composure, ignoring the self-satisfied look on Dylan’s face.

Eric makes room in his bed for Dylan that night. If his parents see them together, they’ll just say Dylan is too tall to sleep comfortably on the sofa. It’s not a lie.

*

Dylan expects to spend the day after Thanksgiving with Eric, but Eric makes up some excuse not to see him. “I’ve got to run some errands,” Eric says mysteriously, and so Dylan goes home alone.

Dylan is disappointed, but he spends the day going to Home Depot with his dad. His mom bakes a spaghetti casserole for dinner and asks him questions about his college life. They talk about what classes he plans to take next term, mostly follow-up courses for English and German and one Web Programming class that Dylan actually seems excited for.

Dylan spends the rest of the night playing _Doom_ alone in his room, wondering if he said something wrong to Eric.

*

Eric calls Dylan’s house the next day to ask if they can go to Media Play to see what’s new and pick up some fresh music. Eric hadn’t taken anything with him to boot camp except his driver’s license, a twenty dollar bill, and the clothes on his back. The lack of music had driven him crazy, and he’d wanted nothing more at night than to listen to something in his headphones as he was forcing his body to sleep. The only music he heard during boot camp was reveille and taps, two sounds that made Eric want to off himself right then and there.

Dylan picks Eric up an hour later, noticing that his friend’s Prelude is absent from the driveway even though he’s standing in front of the garage.

Dylan rolls down the window. “Where the fuck’s your car, Eric?”

“I sold it.”

“You sold it?!”

“Did I stutter? What the fuck was I going to do with it, Vodka?”

Dylan gets quiet. He knows Eric doesn’t really want an answer to his question anyway. Selling the car must have been one of his mysterious errands the other day. “Get in,” he mutters.

It takes them twenty minutes to drive to the record store. Dylan heads straight for the techno section, while Eric browses the new releases.

Eventually Dylan wanders up to Eric, who’s studying the cover of the new Nine Inch Nails album.

“Not getting it?” Dylan asks, surprised when Eric places the CD back on the shelf. Eric’s hands are shockingly empty given the fact that they were in a record store. He usually walked away with two or three new albums, at least.

“I’m trying to save money,” Eric explains. “I don’t need everything.”

Dylan leans forward, reaching around Eric to pick the CD up. Wordlessly, he adds it to his own stack.

*

Eric starts messing around on the computer when they get back to his parents’ house. Dylan hands Eric the NIN album before getting busy on the shrink wrap on his own CDs. He’s in the middle of a computer game when Dylan sits on Eric’s lap as a joke.

Eric is frustrated at first, but decides to forget the game and explore Dylan instead. “Anybody else interrupted my game and I’d kill ‘em,” Eric mutters. He slides his hands down Dylan’s sides.

Eric can feel Dylan suck in his stomach when he touches his waist. Eric strokes his hip with his thumb. “ _Don’t_ ,” Eric tells him. Dylan was self-conscious, but there wasn’t a need, at least not in Eric’s eyes. He’d only gotten more attractive in the time he’d been away at college. Walking everywhere on campus had done his lithe body a favor, and he was half an inch taller now, too. Dylan relaxes and Eric wraps his arms tighter around him. He turns his head and leans his cheek against Dylan’s back.

Enjoying the physical touch, Dylan arches his back, which effectively pushes his ass down into Eric’s lap.

“What are you trying to do to me?” Eric asks. Dylan still doesn’t get it so Eric thrusts his hips up. He grinds into Dylan, sure that his move had started as an innocent gesture, but unwilling to turn back now that they had started. Dylan rocks his hips against Eric’s, and Eric slides two hands underneath Dylan’s shirt, spreading his palms across his stomach and higher, brushing his fingers over a nipple. Dylan’s breath catches, and Eric’s hands keep moving. What’s supposed to be a soft gesture winds up a tickle, and pretty soon Dylan is grinning, shaking in Eric’s hands. Dylan’s laughter is a pure sound; Eric likes the sound of it. He leans into Dylan, wrapping his arms around him even tighter, feeling his body laugh.

Dylan moves to get up, but Eric’s grip tightens, and he pulls the young man back down into his lap. Dylan finally worms his way around, craning his neck so he can look Eric in the eye. Eric licks his lips, awkward under the weight of his gaze.

Dylan gives him the kind of kiss he thought about on long, lonely nights at boot camp.

“This angle is not gonna work,” Dylan laughs nervously.

Eric pats his thigh. “Move to my bed.”

Dylan climbs off his lap and Eric jumps to the door, checking to make sure it’s locked. Satisfied, he returns to the bed. Hand on Dylan’s chest, he leans the younger man back against the covers.

Eric gives Dylan the kind of kiss that makes his toes curl, an affectionate, pleasant, Disney prince sort of kiss. After he feels Dylan has had his share, he dips his tongue past his lips. Dylan responds, and Eric thrusts his tongue into Dylan’s mouth. He pulls back and bites Dylan’s lower lip, tugging it between his teeth.

Dylan brings a hand up to Eric’s shoulder, but Eric catches his wrist. He pins it to the bed beside Dylan’s head, kissing the protest off his mouth.

Eric is pleased with how Dylan seems to respond to his touch. It feels like it’s been an unbearably long time, even though it’s only been a couple of months since they last saw each other.

Side by side on top of the sheets, they make out lazily. It lacks the urgency of some of their fumblings over the summer, back when they were almost as scared of each other as they were of someone finding them. Eric’s hand wanders, slipping down Dylan’s side, under his shirt, brushing against his lower back.

Dylan works up the nerve to push Eric onto his back and crawl on top of him. He straddles his thighs, looking down proudly.

“Get down here,” Eric says, tugging his shirt.

Dylan’s got his hands on Eric’s shoulders and he’s leaning down for a kiss when there’s a knock on the door. They scramble apart and Dylan dives for Eric’s computer chair while Eric answers the door.

“Everything okay in here?”

“Great, mom,” Eric answers.

“I just came to see if you two wanted dinner.”

“Yeah. We’ll be up in a minute.”

She disappears, and Eric sighs in relief.

*

Every morning Eric goes for a run, trying to keep up his physical fitness by training during leave. Some days he and Dylan go to a playground halfway between their houses where Eric uses the equipment to train, doing push-ups and using the monkey bars for pull-ups. Dylan watches him with fascination.

One day, feeling more confident when he realizes Dylan’s eyes are on him, Eric strips off his white t-shirt and throws it to the side.

Dylan licks his lips, watching Eric’s abs flex as he works out, and he has to turn his head.

Eric smirks when he drops to the ground for push-ups, completely aware of what he’s doing. Dylan watches him wipe the sweat off his body with the discarded shirt, thinking about how much he hates him.

*

On one of the nights during Eric’s leave, Dylan gets invited to a house party thrown by one of the townies who’d stuck around to attend UC Denver. He asks if Eric can come too, a stupid question that makes Eric uncomfortable to overhear. “He’ll bring liquor,” Dylan promises, and Eric cringes. That’s what his presence is worth, whatever alcohol he can manage to bring. Nevertheless, Dylan looks proud that he talked his friends into it.

It feels good to wear their trenchcoats again; the crisp fall air gives them a reason.

At the party Eric makes the mistake of drinking the same amount of gin he’d normally drink, forgetting that it’s been thirteen weeks since his last sip. Drunk, he becomes more talkative and brash. He gets more handsy than usual, sneaking touches whenever he can. Dylan realizes that he’s not interested in the party at all, just in Dylan, and when everybody else gets up for more beer Dylan hoists his friend up by the back of his neck.

Dylan pushes Eric into an empty bedroom. Eric sits on the edge of the bed, his head swimming, and Dylan takes a seat beside him.

“Guess I misunderestimated myself,” Eric mumbles. Dylan laughs at the nonsense.

Eric scowls, but then, without thinking, Eric draws Dylan into a kiss. Still missing his friend badly, he finds himself unable to resist. Dylan starts reaching out for him.

The door to the bedroom opens while their tongues are in each other’s mouths, a sliver of light widening in the room. The boys pull apart, startled. It’s Jeff, a friend of Eric’s brother, one of his buddies in the Army that just happened to be on leave for the holiday, too. He stares at them both, before turning on his heel.

It takes a moment for everything to sink in.

“Shit. I could get kicked out of the Marines if someone reports us,” Eric panics, suddenly reminded of ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’. His fists clench. “You’ve got to do something.”

Dylan sees the fear in his eyes, and his decision has been made. The lanky young man thunders down the hall after Jeff. Dylan reaches out and grabs the guy’s shirt collar. Yanking him around, Dylan throws him up against the wall, placing a hand at his throat. “What did you see?” The guy’s eyes widen. “What the fuck did you see?” Dylan repeats with rage in his voice.

“I saw you -” Dylan knocks the guy’s head back against the wall. “I didn’t see anything.”

“That’s right,” Dylan says. “And if you tell anyone what you _didn’t see_ , I’ll blow your fucking brains out.” The guy nods. “Did you hear what I said?”

“You’ll kill me.”

“That’s right.”

Dylan lets the guy go, and Eric emerges from where he’s been hiding in the doorway, stumbling a little.

“Fuck, Vodka, that was hot.”

“You’re twisted,” Dylan tells him, trying to ignore the dark feeling welling up in his chest. “Let’s get outta here.”

*

Eric is in a bad mood the entire drive back to his parents’ house. Dylan plans to drop him off, but makes sure he gets inside safely first, knowing how drunk he is. Once he gets Eric into bed, Dylan tries to kiss him goodnight, but the older boy turns his head at the last moment so Dylan misses his lips completely. Dylan tries to disguise the look of hurt on his face unsuccessfully while Eric flops down on his back.

“I’m an asshole,” Eric says, staring at the ceiling.

“Yeah,” Dylan agrees, still upset about earlier, clenching his teeth and not even pretending to disagree. A few moments of silence pass. “Do you wanna tell me about it?” Dylan asks quietly, offering to listen despite feeling shunted by Eric, but Eric just turns to face the wall. It was hard for Dylan to care for him when it felt like he was in another room.

As if reading Dylan’s mind, Eric turns back around to face his boyfriend with a sigh. “Let’s go camping,” he decides suddenly.

Dylan narrows his eyes. “We haven’t done that since middle school.”

“So? We can build a bigass fire and take my shotgun. I’ll even cook you dinner.”

Dylan wonders if this is Eric’s way of trying to make up for earlier. “Okay,” he concedes. “We’ll go camping.”

Still sitting on Eric’s bed, Dylan leans back against the wall.

“I wish you were a girl,” Eric murmurs drunkenly.

“Gee,” Dylan responds dryly, offended. “Thanks.”

“I just mean… fuck. You deserve to be with someone who can hold your hand in public and shit, that’s all,” he says, so full of self-loathing that Dylan can hear it in his voice. So that’s why Eric’s acting so weird. Was this a dealbreaker for him, not being able to be with someone in public? “It never bothers you that we can’t ever be together without somebody calling us faggots or something?”

“You think it doesn’t bother me?” Dylan thinks about it all the time. “I think about it all the fucking time,” Dylan admits. “I wish… it doesn’t matter.”

Eric covers his eyes with his forearm, still feeling gloomy. Dylan scoots closer, shaking his arm. Eric peers at him, one eye open.

“I want you anyway,” Dylan promises.

“You sure?” Eric asks, sour.

“Don’t be stupid, Reb,” Dylan says. “Goodnight. I hope you feel better in the morning.”

*

Eric desires nothing but the luxuries of civilian life on his limited time away on leave, but a small part of him is eager to show off to Dylan, so they take a tent to Pike National Forest to camp overnight. It’s not a long drive, but it’s far enough to make them feel like they’ve gotten away from home. They bring Dylan’s TEC-9 and a sawed-off shotgun, and a couple of empty milk cartons.

After they set up the tent and throw their sleeping bags inside, they decide to start shooting stuff, unable to resist.

Dylan ties his hair back, leaving a few strands hanging in his face. He studies Eric as he fires the shotgun. Every time he lands a hit the milk carton spins. “You’ve gotten a lot better,” Dylan remarks.

“Fuck yeah,” Eric says, aiming. The shot rings out loudly. Eric drops the gun and motions for Dylan to take his place.

Dylan stands to the side with his TEC in his left hand. His first shot misses, whizzing past the carton.

“Here,” Eric says, stepping up behind him. Eric adjusts Dylan’s hips so he’s facing the target, extending his left arm in front of him. He nudges his right leg forward a few inches before dropping his hands. Eric was just trying to be helpful, he didn’t want Dylan to think he was telling him what to do or anything. He backs up.

Hands on his hips, Eric watches Dylan as he aims again, this time hitting the target. Eric crows.

They shoot until they run out of bullets, tearing into trees when the milk jugs start to look like swiss cheese.

Eric builds a fire and cooks dinner like he promised, even though it’s just a can of beans. Dylan (who’s been going camping with his father for years) arguably has most of the same skills, but Dylan lets Eric pretend to be in charge.

After they finish eating, Eric tries to show off some of his sharper reflexes and new martial arts abilities, shadowboxing in front of the fire. Eric puts Dylan in a hold just for fun, but relaxes his grip and lets him go when he sees fear flash in his boyfriend’s eyes.

At the end of the night the two young men sit side by side on a fallen tree branch in front of the fire. Eric tosses an empty beer can into the fire pit, watching the flames dance around the aluminum.  

Eric looks at the moon and the mountains and his best friend sitting in front of him. Knowing this is one of the last chances he’ll get, he draws him into a kiss. Dylan’s fingers are sticky from melted marshmallows.

When the fire dies, the boys retreat into their tent, which is just barely big enough for the both of them, with only a small camping light for illumination. Sitting on their knees in front of each other, they strip off their shirts. Dylan is shy, especially when he can see Eric’s newly developed abs even in the dark. Dylan runs his fingertips over Eric’s skin in awe, feeling the firm muscles under his hand. He’s more solid than Dylan remembers.

“I missed you every day,” Dylan can’t stop himself from saying, and his words hang between their bodies. Senior year feels like eons ago. They had only admitted there might be something between them in April, and it had been a long, languid summer as they learned what each other’s bodies were for.

Eric slides a hand up into Dylan’s hair. He pulls his boyfriend closer, can feel his breath on his lips before he closes the gap completely and brings their mouths together in a kiss.

Eric lies Dylan back onto a sleeping bag, strong arms supporting his body. He tries to get a good look but Dylan arches up before he can manage, smashing their lips together.

Dylan’s hands creep over Eric’s shoulders, feeling the strong muscle. He lets himself enjoy how firm Eric feels, his built, sinewy form much more impressive than it used to be. Eric thrusts against him, grinding down.

“You wanna —?”

“Yeah,” Dylan says before Eric can finish his sentence. Eric reaches down to unzip Dylan’s jeans, looking up at him hesitantly. Dylan can’t help but buck into Eric’s hands, which makes him smile a wicked smile. Dylan props his hands behind his head to watch Eric strip off his own pants and throw them to the side.

Dylan reaches for him automatically when he crawls back on top of him. Eric winds his fingers together with Dylan’s, bringing his hands above his head.

Being in a tent in the middle of nowhere gives them a freedom they never had during furtive make-out sessions in Dylan’s bedroom or Eric’s basement. Last summer they’d always felt moments away from being caught, and their rushed movements reflected that.

Tonight, they take their time. Eric grinds against Dylan painfully slowly, rubbing his cock on the inside of Dylan’s thigh. Dylan inches over slightly so their cocks grind against each other. Eric hisses and pushes Dylan into the ground. He mouths a bruise on Dylan’s neck and Dylan squirms.

Dylan reaches between them to palm his own cock, which was filling in his hand.

“Hey,” Eric says, jealous, rubbing his cock against Dylan’s. Dylan wraps his fingers around Eric’s junk. “Mmm,” Eric moans, thrusting into Dylan’s hand.

“How much did you miss me?”

“Is that a serious question?” Dylan pouts his lips. “Turn over,” Eric tells him. “ _Bück dich_.”

Dylan hesitates, a look of uncertainty passing over his features, but he trusts Eric. He does as he says.

Eric spreads his cheeks, circling Dylan’s hole with his index finger. He slides the tip in until the first knuckle, pulling out when Dylan tenses up. Eric runs his tongue over the hole, then dips his tongue inside. He flicks it, getting it nice and wet. He slides his finger back in, laving him with his tongue at the same time. Eric squeezes his ass, working his tongue in further. He licks Dylan’s asshole until he’s wet and puckered, making shameful little cries.

Once Dylan lets out a high-pitched yelp, Eric lines up his dick and pushes inside. He grips Dylan’s waist for leverage, moving slowly as to not hurt him. Dylan is tight. Eric’s hands seek purchase on Dylan’s hips as he pushes in all the way, struggling to hold himself back from thrusting. He buries himself inside, fingers flexing on Dylan’s skin.  

Dylan starts to pump his hips back. “That’s it,” Eric encourages, getting off on hearing himself talk. With one hand on Dylan’s back pressing him into the right angle, Eric fucks him with gusto. Eric thrusts deeper. “Gonna make you my military wife,” he grunts, losing control, unable to keep himself from saying it. He presses his forehead to Dylan’s shoulder. “You’re my little bitch, aren’t you?”

“Fuck, Eric. Yeah, m’yours.”

Eric knows he could never marry his boyfriend, but he imagines it anyway, imagines Dylan coming with him to live on a military base somewhere in Germany. The idea gets him hot, and his dick throbs. He pounds into Dylan, the other man grunting every time their hips snap together.

When he’s close, Eric pulls out so he can watch himself come on Dylan’s ass.

Dylan turns around without wiping himself clean. “I swear to god, if my sleeping bag is crunchy later…”

Eric throws him a roll of paper towels.

They pull their boxers back on, and Dylan unzips the side of his sleeping bag so they can both climb into Eric’s and use his own bag as a blanket. Once they’re both laying on the ground, Dylan pulls the sleeping bag over their heads the way he used to do when they were kids. The darkness makes it impossible to see, and he traces Eric’s lips in the shadows. He slides a finger down his chin, down the hollow of his throat, and down Eric's chest. Dylan’s finger catches on Eric’s dog tags, unused to their presence around his neck.  

Dylan captures Eric’s mouth in a long, lazy kiss.

“Night, Reb.”

“Goodnight, V.”

Bodies intertwined, they drift off to sleep under the stars.

Of the many times Eric and Dylan had fooled around, they’d never had the opportunity to really take their time waking up in each other’s arms before, to savor the moment. A new day means the countdown shrinks again, and Dylan’s heart sinks as the sun rises.

*

The night before Eric flies back to San Diego for training is a somber one - at first.

Eric convinces Dylan to give him the keys to the BMW, and he drives out to the forest. The night air is cool, and Dylan finds himself wishing he could make the night last longer, to no success. Dylan recognizes the area Eric drives them out to - they used to come out here to fuck around, literally and figuratively. They probably weren’t supposed to be doing any of the things they were doing, whether it was shooting trees or having sex in the backseat of Eric’s car.

Eric finds a clearing in sight of the moon and pulls the car over, tires crunching on the gravel.

Both boys climb out of the car. Dylan leans back against the hood. Their actions are synchronized as they pull packs of cigarettes from their pockets, Marlboro Menthols for Dylan and Kamel Reds for Eric.

Eric walks around while he smokes, kicking rocks into the trees.

They smoke their cigarettes in the midst of a companionable silence. It reminds Dylan of the quiet night Eric left for boot camp, almost four months ago.

“Do you think you’re ready?” Dylan asks as his cigarette burns out. He doesn’t need to say what for.

Eric fidgets with his lighter. “Sometimes I don’t think I’m ever going to be ready,” he finally admits. He takes a long drag of his cigarette.

“Four years is a long time.”

“I don’t want you to forget about me,” Eric says a moment later, before he loses the nerve. It’s a surprisingly needy statement coming from the young man.

“How could I?” Dylan rolls his eyes. Eric steps closer to him.

“I am always gonna come back for you. Capisce?” Dylan nods passively. Eric frowns like that’s not good enough. He rearranges himself so he’s in right front of Dylan, looking the other young man in the eye. “Hey,” Eric says, taking a deep breath. “Tell me you know that.”

“I know, Eric.”

Eric leans forward to kiss Dylan. He knows it’s now or never. He runs his hand over his pocket.

Taking Dylan’s left hand in his own, Eric pulls out a ring.

Dylan’s jaw drops. Eric glances at his face nervously, then back down to his hand so he can slide the silver ring onto Dylan’s ring finger with an unsteady hand.

Dylan’s mouth hangs open as he looks at the ring on his finger.

“I still have like, four years left of active duty. So there’s that. But after… goddamnit Dylan I don’t care where I’m at as long as it’s with you.”

Dylan seems silently pleased, admiring his new jewelry. Eric watches him flex his fingers, turning his hand over, back and forth, back and forth.

Eric can’t take it anymore. He kisses his boyfriend, cradling Dylan’s jaw in his palm.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me something?” Dylan says. While Eric had put a ring on his finger, he hadn’t technically popped the question.

“Didn’t think I needed to,” Eric says, cocky. He’s right.

Dylan can’t hide his smile.

*

Dylan, who insists on driving Eric to the airport before he heads back to Tucson, takes Eric out to lunch before his flight to Camp Pendleton. Eric stares at Dylan while they eat with an uncanny focus. Dylan can’t figure out why until they get back in Dylan’s car and Eric slams the door. Dylan’s about to ask him what’s wrong when Eric tells him, unbidden.

“You’re not wearing it,” he sulks, having noticed that Dylan isn’t wearing the ring much earlier in the day.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Dylan tries to convince him. Dylan grabs his shoulders, trying to get him to slow down. “My parents asked questions, Eric,” he tells him. He pulls a chain out from under his shirt, revealing Eric’s ring. “Look. It’s closer to my heart.”

Eric calms down a little seeing the ring. He inhales loudly through his nose, trying to quell his anger. “It’s not a joke. You know it’s not a joke, right?” Dylan bumps their shoulders together. “You’re not embarrassed to be seen with me, are you?”

“Eric, how’d you get that?” Dylan sighs. “Being embarrassed to be with you and not being able to tell people that I’m g- that I’m dating a guy are two very different things.”

“Fine,” Eric agrees; Dylan sees him trying not to take it personally. “I see people all over and I know they’re happy and I realize it’s actually possible and I just want that so bad. Want it for you too, Vodka.”

“You have to think about your career,” Dylan says when Eric starts to get heated, and Eric realizes he has a point. He stares at his cammies miserably. “We shouldn’t even be doing this,” Dylan says.

“What?” Eric says.

“This.” Dylan leans over the seat and captures Eric’s mouth in a kiss. His mouth is warm with the promise of _more_ the way it always is.

“Don’t ask, don’t tell,” Eric mutters, “don’t look in people’s fucking cars.”

*

Eric and Dylan hug goodbye on the same exact steps where they greeted each other at the start of Eric’s leave ten days prior.

“Goodbye, V.”

Dylan doesn’t say anything, just hugs him tighter. Then he pulls back, and for a second, Eric thinks Dylan might kiss him. He doesn’t though, he just lets go of Eric, despite still looking like he wants to do no such thing. “I’ll see you later, Reb.”

It hurts to break his gaze. Eric tries not to look back.

*

On the airplane, Eric finds a note tucked into his duffel bag and unfolds it.

_REB-_

_I don’t know what to say. Was there anything I could have said to make you stay? Pretty soon you’ll be 400 miles away but I feel like I should be grateful for that because after that it’ll be almost 2000 miles and it sucks so bad. I know you think you’re doing the right thing. All I can think of is good luck. Merry Christmas. Happy New Year. I’m counting down the days until I can see you again._

_You were (are?) my first & my only. I’m sure you could have guessed that but I wanted you to know. I love you to infinice. _

_____love, always,__ _ _ _

___ _


End file.
